


Spellbound

by Val_Creative



Category: The Witch (2015), The Witch (2016)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic Consent, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Face-Sitting, Femslash, Forest Sex, Halloween, Kinktober, Kinktober 2017, No Underage Sex, Orgy, Post-Canon, Samhain, Supernatural Elements, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 02:36:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12471572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: The only howling on the eve of the harvest is her coven, bathing in moonlight, feasting on Thomasin — mind, body, and soul.





	Spellbound

**Author's Note:**

> The VVITCH is a fantastic horror movie if you are looking for something original and frightening for Halloween! :) This is another prompt fill " **[The Witch, Thomasin/OFC, I don't fear the dark anymore, 'cause I've become all that](https://allgirlsarewolves.dreamwidth.org/3743.html?thread=30111#cmt30111)** " for LADIES LOVING LADIES: a femslash comment ficathon via Dreamwidth! And [Kinktober 2017](http://kinktober2017.tumblr.com/post/163962052261) is still at its peak so I decided on a bunch of stuff for this one! If you enjoyed, please, any comments/thoughts appreciated!
> 
> My two Halloweeny playlists for sharing and listening: **[halloween spooky time](https://playmoss.com/en/valcreative/playlist/halloween-spooky-time)** (traditionally Halloween and more popular songs) and **[boils and ghouls](https://playmoss.com/en/valcreative/playlist/boils-and-ghouls)** (the creepier and unsettling supernatural and horror-themed songs)

 

*

The winds nor wolves howl, on the eve when the skies redden and dew collects between Thomasin's muddied, bare toes.

When the very air is charged and molten with lightning-heat. Her skin feels shivery and cool, despite the flames of a monstrous, roaring bonfire licking at the ends of Thomasin's honeysuckle-smelling hair.

Hisses and murmurs arise, shrieking into the treetops.

The abandoned wilds of this country has not consumed her. The darkness has not stolen her wits.

Thomasin has reclaimed _herself_ — in the name of her poisoned, deviled Father. She tosses herself among the ring of witches, yelling and chanting along, watching with naked, eager eyes as two woman — one fair, one with scarlet curls — embrace and writhe against the ground, laughing, touching each other's breasts.

A girl as young as Thomasin, with a curtain of dark, filthy hair, takes her hand and leads her into the throes, pressing their mouths together hungrily.

This must be _living deliciously,_ as promised, Thomasin says in her own mind, kissing back with fierce adoration. She rakes her fingernails over the girl's body. A love more primal than family or faith rushes her, dizzying and powerful.

She kneels above the grinning, half-grown witch, unsure of her actions before fingers seize Thomasin's hips, lowering her into a sit. Thomasin gasps aloud, shaking violently when the girl's mouth opens wide against her entrance, suckling, her tongue slick and _wet_ and pushing past the folds of Thomasin's cunt.

Thomasin's gasps and whimpers strengthen into breathless, high laughter. She starts to bounce herself against the girl's face and her _wicked_ , remarkable tongue.

Other members of their coven take notice, encouraging Thomasin to ride faster, kissing her lips and stroking her nipples gently, biting down on her throat, moaning, humming, _screeching_ , yanking Thomasin's hair with impish delight.

She tastes blood and salt and dirt on other woman's mouths, crying out when her belly twists and turns, overheating, _pleasure_ leaking between her thighs.

A thumb-nail scratches Thomasin's ribcage, welling blood. Another young woman leans over, opening her fluid-damp mouth to the wound, ravenously licking and holding onto Thomasin so tightly that she fears for a moment being crushed _alive_.

The only howling on the eve of the harvest is her sister-witches, bathing in moonlight, feasting on Thomasin — mind, body, and soul.

*

 


End file.
